


Let it be known that we are all ghosts

by Archadian_Skies



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Background Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Percival Graves & Theseus Scamander Friendship, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 06:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9478904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies/pseuds/Archadian_Skies
Summary: Percival Graves is a stubborn man who doesn't believe in idling about while he recovers, and Credence Barebone is the not quite ghost haunting him. Or: It's easier to keep track of two people recovering if they're in the same place at the same time





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ingu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingu/gifts).



> Very loose interpretation of a tumblr prompt: "Sharing A Bath/Swim"

([x](https://ingu.tumblr.com/post/155560374243/gravebone-au-when-percival-graves-is-finally))([x](https://ingu.tumblr.com/post/155566438258/im-just-going-to-leave-this-here))([x](https://ingu.tumblr.com/post/155670529878/well-dont-look-at-me))([x](https://valliamerie.tumblr.com/post/155632342540))

He was fine, truly. He’d long tired of their fussing, rejected their charity and absolutely _loathed_  their pity. Percival Graves was many things, but a pitiable creature was not one of them. He was fine.

This was the fifth invigorating draught he’d emptied down his throat and he was just fine. He was going to draw himself a hot bath and soak for moment, then eat a meal and go to bed. Perfectly normal things to do for someone who was just fine.

Letting the tap run to fill up the tub, Percival took a moment to inspect his reflection; he was thinner, more haggard and less imposing, definitely needed a shave and an illegal amount of Pepper Ups and invigorating draughts. He had more greys than he remembered, more tired lines at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead; fatigue etched into his skin.

The healers wanted to keep him here at least a month, sharing the same roof as _that boy_  but he would have none of that. He’d been here three days and already he felt like a caged, cornered animal. Seraphina had _implored_ him to stay and rest, the closest she’d ever gotten to downright begging, but what love, what fondness he felt for her and their long years as schoolmates and colleagues fell a little short- she hadn’t noticed.

No one noticed. Not enough, anyway, to do anything about it. So he’d remained confined in a charmed cell inside the fine silver shaving kit Theseus gifted him all those years ago. A cosy little place, Grindelwald had reassured him, to spend his time reflecting on his loved ones before he’d kill them.

Water crept under his toes, startling him out of his bitter memories and it was with a frustrated groan that he realised the bath was overflowing. Muttering a quick spell to clean up the mess took more out of him than he’d assumed, and Percival found himself unsteady on his feet atop wet tiles. Crouching, turned off the tap and dug his hand into the bathwater, pulling the plug so it could drain enough to fit him without overflowing again.

The water was near scalding as he lowered himself into it, and he grit his teeth as the heat radiated through his tired, aching muscles. A hot bath, a hot meal, and a warm bed. Perfectly fine.

Percival Faolán Lorccán Graves, the Director of Magical Security, was fine, just fine and tomorrow he’d go back to work.

* * *

Credence Barebone was still unsure as to how Ms Porpentina Goldstein had convinced Madam President Seraphina Picquery to forgive his monstrous actions and allow him into the healing house.

He’d been a slip, a wisp of smoke and betrayal and agony when she’d found him in the ruins of the church, coaxed him into her palms and rained on him with her tears. She was the one person who hadn’t lied to him, hadn’t worn the face of a friend and hurt him. She never tried to kill him the way the other Aurors tried, with their gritted teeth and their fury and their disgust and desperation.

She’d pleaded his case while he cowered in borrowed clothes charmed from her own wardrobe and he felt small, so small and worthless and furious and vengeful at the same time. 

But she’d won because she saw the guilt behind their gusto and she knew, she knew if she could show them a boy instead of a monster they’d be consumed by discomfort. 

And so he’d found himself under the same roof as Mr Graves- the real Mr Graves, and not a wanted Dark Wizard wearing the face of Mr Graves promising Credence the world.

He didn’t know this Mr Graves, and it seemed this Mr Graves didn’t want to get to know him, didn’t want to touch him and whisper offers of salvation. In fact their interactions could be counted on one hand with fingers to spare.

Credence tried to tell himself it was fine, it was for the best. He should be grateful for the hospitality, that they’re doing this at all, and once he’s back on his feet he can- he can…start again. Far away in a city that doesn’t know him.

He will plead with them to find Modesty and make sure she’s alright, and if it’s possible, to deliver her the letter he spent hours painstakingly writing with trembling hand and threadbare sanity.

The Obscurus was grafted into his very bones, and he was grafted into the Obscurus. There was no separating them- they were the Obscurial that laid waste to New York and until Credence could show he could control it, he would stay confined.

‘Confined’. As if the healing house wasn’t absolute luxury compared to that rickety, mouldy church with its creaking boards and wailing winds. He and his sisters slept on hard wooden palettes with lumpy barely passable mattresses  and pillows, and scratchy moth-eaten blankets. They ate stale bread and thin gruel and cabbage soup once a day. 

Petty as it was, Credence opened the refrigerator just to look at all the food inside. It was never empty, as was the generous pantry, and one afternoon Credence had watched in amazement as a meal cooked itself in the kitchen before neatly floating over to the dining room and setting itself down over two plates. 

He’d devoured his meal first, before gingerly taking the other plate to the bedroom down the hall. Mr Graves had looked at him the way one looked at an insistent stray dog. He accepted the plate though, and Credence considered it a small victory.

The first time they’d met was with Ms Goldstein introducing them - Mr Graves had ignored the hand Credence outstretched in greeting, wordlessly turned heel and locked himself in his assigned bedroom.

Aside from the healers who came in to check on them daily, Credence spent his time alone stewing in his destructive thoughts. He wondered if Mr Graves did the same. He wondered if Mr Graves thought him nothing but a ghost haunting him. He wondered if Mr Graves thought about him at all.

As quietly as he could manage, he crept down the hall intending to retreat to his own bedroom until his socks squelched beneath him. Puzzled, Credence looked down to find water inching out from beneath the bathroom door.

“Mr Graves?” He knocked thrice and received no answer. “Mr Graves are you alright? Mr Gra-”

The doorknob twisted open with ease and Credence hesitantly stepped inside. The air felt cold and damp, and the bathroom floor was slick. In the bathtub, Percival Graves lay limp like a discarded ragdoll.

“Mr Graves! Oh-” Credence scrambled to his side, almost slipping in his hurry. “Mr Graves wake up! Mr Graves!” 

Rolling up his sleeves, there was no time for propriety as he sunk his hand into the bathwater and yanked the plug. As the bathsuds and water drained, Percival’s body came into view and it was then that Credence saw the damage their captor had caused.

He was covered in thick ropes of scars, and he was thin, far too thin for a man of his frame. Starting from his right hand and trailing up his arm, the scar tissue looked like lightning forked across his skin. It would’ve been beautiful, had it not been gained through horrific circumstances.

“Mr Graves, please!” Credence tried shaking him awake but to no avail. Getting back to his feet, Credence stumbled over to the linen cupboard and pulled out all the towels he could carry before returning to the bathtub.

“Please wake up, please please _please_ -” Dumping the towels beside him, he plucked one up and tried to wrap it around the unresponsive man. He tried his best to wrap another towel around him, and paused briefly, selfishly, to draw him close.

“Please don’t die, please don’t die,” Credence murmured into his dark, silvering hair. “Please don’t leave me here alone.”

Leaning Percival back against the tub, Credence stepped into it to try and secure a third towel around his lower back.

( _Don’t look don’t look don’t look-_ )

“Mr Graves you have to wake up!” Credence pleaded, his voice high with panic. Now straddling him, Credence gripped his shoulders and shook him again. “Please wake up!”

He did. 

A hand shot out and squeezed around his throat, and Credence choked as his breath left him. The dark shadow in the pit of his chest reared up, and he felt his eyes start to burn.

(NO! No no no stop he’s a friend he’s a friend he’s a friend STOP!)

“C-Credence?” The sudden rush of air as Percival let go made his head spin and Credence gripped the rim of the bathtub to steady himself.

“Mr Graves y- you were out cold! I didn’t-”

“Pass me that bottle.” His speech was slurred, his eyes struggling to focus. “That one there by the sink.”

Obediently Credence climbed out of the tub, pausing only when he held the bottle in his hand and spotted several empty ones inside the sink.

“Sir, the healers said you- you can’t have more than two of these-”

“Give it to me.” He growled low and threatening, but it felt weak to Credence. Far too weak.

“No.” He put the bottle down. “No I will not. I will help you to bed and get you some food.”

“Credence-”

“ _No_.” The creature inside thrashed against his ribcage but he swallowed it down. “No sir. You will do as I say this time.”

* * *

The Obscurial of New York was babying him.

If he wasn’t struggling to breathe he would have laughed at the absurdity of it all. And yet the young man, with nothing to his name but _horrors_ , tended to him patiently. Kindly.

He’d mustered enough strength to climb out of the tub, legs shaky as a newborn foal, and the boy had shouldered him as they made their way to his bedroom.

Stubbornly he’d managed to put on a pair of flannel pyjama trousers, but that had been the last of his strength. Credence peeled back the bedcovers, waited until Percival had crawled into bed, then gently tugged them over his torso and smoothed them at his chin.

“Sleep now, Mr Graves. I’ll have food ready when you wake.”

Shame bubbled up from the pit of his stomach, and he felt sick at his earlier behaviour. Though his arm felt like lead, he slid it from beneath the covers and fumbled sideways until he could grasp Credence’s hand.

The darkness was closing in again, faster this time, with no potions to ward it off but somehow Percival didn’t care anymore. Feebly squeezing Credence’s hand in gratitude, he tried to keep his grip tight as the boy eventually pulled away.

Tentative, featherlight fingertips touched his lips and he sighed as the darkness swallowed him up.

“Goodnight, Mr Graves.”

The darkness felt like home. 

_____

[[fic title origin](https://emmaruthrundle.bandcamp.com/track/we-are-all-ghosts)]

(find me on [tumblr](http://archadianskies.tumblr.com/))


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